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A bipolar mom in the midst self discovery

Author: NobodyknowsMom

REAL SHORT. Those scary as fuck moments when I think I am fucking crazy for thinking everyone is fucking psychic because of the things that happen.

haha… so hard to organize my thoughts sometimes.

The Gemini contacted me and sent my brain into a whirl as usual. Oh! to fuck him again after so long ?! would be decadence in my story of debauchery. Consequences of disappointing the Virgo (by being with Gemini) are being rationalized a mile a minute while my Goddess once again toys with the cosmic equation to find the that magic formula to achieve her ultimate desire of …. things I am too ashamed to say… but I fuck up and the Virgo says in conversation how he does not want to live with lies of omission while I am in the middle of making that decision. I do not want to do that! but already men wanting to rank each other and not share in the same day… was it the knowledge of Sagittarius’ hands having touched me, or the (correct) assumption that I had left out details of it being more than his hands on my body that made Virgo’s brain, erection and desire not cooperate? Was it those feelings that fired Virgo’s disregard for my, “no”? Not a complaint exactly, I am so deliciously sore from his attentions I don’t care if it was conscious or subconscious punishment. I just want the omission to go away so I don’t have it hanging over me. I want the perception that I cannot be honest about who I am with without being punished, to go away… I want their egos to back off on the ranking and just allows us to appreciate each other equally for our uniqueness.

I try to push the Sagittarius away, but I really don’t want to. He gives good love. Why else would I have him around if I didn’t like so much of him? I respect his soul, his strengths and appreciate how he loves me. I can forgive and ignore his short comings, except of course his ego wanting to threaten equality. So, even when I say I do not want to fuck him, I know when we laugh and I am taking care of him his gratitude wants my affection and my body wants his.
Gemini, clouds my mind and makes it so hard for me to KISS (keep it simple stupid) in someways he has achieved what I want, the ability to walk away from bullshit…. or at least drink it under the table. We don’t tend to share deep conversations or much time together, I am too active to sit still with him, but when we can tolerate each other the love-making, the fucking for we agree they are one in the same is off the charts… and I am romanticising it at the moment because it has been so long.
My Love, still so new and yet a steadfast reflection of me in so many ways that I hate every moment without him, but he too has the drop of insecurity that says, “please say I am the most important”, and I want to, but it doesn’t seem fair if I cannot have the rest…

So all three of these men are beautiful, talented, alcoholics who excited my being, libido, and will to live. The Goddess is doing her best to keep me alive and to make life worth living, there must be a damn good reason…

I am not a simple person. I have grown beyond “fuck and go home”. I had no idea what Love was when I thought you loved me.

I really enjoyed loving you and dreaming of a possible life together. I realize the adventures we talked about were just fantasies of things we each wanted to do with a person we are in love with; now I am doing those things with that person, and it isn’t you. We just didn’t have enough in common you and I.

I appreciate the things I learned about myself, and the courage you somehow gave me to learn them. I hope, in some way, I have affected your life in positive ways also.

I made you a promise, that I would always love you and want you in my life. I will keep that promise, on my terms, not necessarily giving you what you think you want or need from me, but being kind, unconditionally.

well, it finally happened… I mean I can only call this a diary entry because it is going to be raw… I don’t even want to change names but I will… I am just in this between space of self acceptance and self-awareness and self-actualization… my business and home are coming together and I feel like i am finally in a space where I can find out who the fuck I am and I still don’t feel like I have enough experience to stand on solid ground there. I will never be solid I am fluid, I change, I adapt, I learn and grow. I know I am not the only human being going through this process, I just wonder why I am so tormented by it all that I have to write and spill my guts out for dissection and I am eager to know what people think, just as long as I AM UNDER THE ILLUSION they DON’T KNOW we are talking about ME…. “SEE, I HAVE THIS FRIEND…”

Still in love here, still falling, still enamored by My Love, this amazing man who loves me like I have NEVER been loved … and of course Heartbreaker, Fuck boy, my scarecrow, (oh! all the labels I love to give him!!) the reminder that I do have a weakness, sexual addiction? Asshole addiction? whatever, Mr. McGee, finally replies, “You’re still around? Why won’t you give up?” I told him I could not “give up” because I promised I wouldn’t… because I see something amazing in him… and there is the heartbreak… Every human has potential. I know not everyone will be gurus or goddesses, but there is something amazing in loving someone, supporting someone as they find their footing, embrace the desires deep in their hearts whether or not they are “acceptable” to normal society… just knowing that if he pursues his happiness, amazing things will happen around him and I want to be a part of that. I see it in myself, and in My Love, we share a crazy far-out dream of teaching people how to live in Love, how to make Love, far beyond what most people perceive. I don’t know what Mr. McGee dreams of anymore… sex, beer and cigarettes, video games and tv… I know at one time we talked of camping and adventures, but either depression has buried his motivation or he has acquiesced with quid-pro-quo. I also think we used to have deep intelligent conversations, now it seems Mr.McGee is stuck on a two word vocabulary unless the conversation is porn sex… and honestly I am over it. Sex is SO much more.

I don’t need his permission to give-up on him, but the heartbreak is so hard. Disappointment in myself for seeing something where it wasn’t? Hope that if I give more he will strive for his own potential? is that my ego’s script? plotting that if I am good enough then my lover would strive to be good enough? That fucking beats me up. That is what got me through 25 years of marriage.

“If I am good enough: if I please him, if I please him with my physical appearance; with dinner on the table at 6; with a clean house; well groomed, educated kids; if I take interest in his job and interests; if I never outshine him; if I satisfy his needs emotionally and physically; IF I AM GOOD ENOUGH he will work just as hard to be good enough for me… but I am not that good so why would anybody try that hard?”

bam… so there it is, that is how I beat myself up over love… I feel like shit just writing it out…. I cannot be good enough trying to satisfy someone’s expectations of what they think they need or want from me. My parents, God bless them, feel like failures already so any success I DO manage to accomplish they are grateful for and proud of me for accomplishing–I am sorry it has taken me so long to honor them for the love and care they have always provided when they could. My lovers however, my EX, Mr.McGee, relationship comes with expectation… I am so grateful My Love and I give each other these reality checks, “I am messed up and my greatest fear is hurting you, but it is a valid fear.” We have both accepted our personal failings, we are honest with each other and try to talk about and be transparent and honest about all this kind of shit.. I told My Love, McGee contacted me and I was feeling so weak, so ready to just go fuck him but I don’t need to! I am SO satisfied, I feel so loved and so honored and cared for….and at times like this, unworthy, because I want to… I want to feel him again… I know it will be wonderful sex, with those feelings of regret and disconnect riding the tails of self indulgence.

It is so hard to accept, no- let go of my failures, they are MY perception of failure. Failure is falling short of an expectation that I hold either for myself or that I feel someone else is holding me to. I try to only hold others to what I would hold myself to, but people hold so many standards for whatever reason! to label ourselves? to feel connected to others, the tribe, that holds the same standards and values. without a tribe I feel out cast, shunned? but trying to fit into a tribe, my family, my peers, hell-ANY social circumstance, I pretty much want to retreat! I do not understand people because what they say and how they act rarely match, everything feels fake and then I wonder if that is a reflection of me being fake?? Like the one thing I DO NOT want to be but as soon as I let my guard down I say SOMETHING that makes EVERYONE raise an eyebrow or or awkward silence or something… so I act quiet and shy and try to be unless there is a game or music and things are more like a party, then i can dance and relax and not have to think about anyone so much. Anyways… failures are just learning experiences. and even if I feel a failure for giving up on my marriage and now Mr. McGee, I think I am finally learning the path of Love I have wanted.

I am in love… I am scared as fuck. I am allowing? sometimes forcing, myself to be as open, transparent and thus vulnerable as possible. Focusing on “full disclosure” the good things are easy, the obvious things are easy to overlook, but SO much harder to conquer.

It is always easier for me to be “honest” about my own shortcomings, before mentioning anyone else’s because somehow that makes me feel like, “Please, understand, I am not insulting or degrading you because I am just as bad, if not worse”. I like having the option of multiple sex partners, sex is awesome and people are different flavors. I am fantastic at procrastinating and being mad at myself for not accomplishing things in a time-wise manner (yeah, “uses time wisely” has been graded as “unsatisfactory” on EVERY REPORT CARD since kindergarten, so I think that is just something anyone who loves me including myself must accept and maybe, gently, help me with daily– I mean I am writing this very moment when there are a LOT more important things I need to do, but if I do not write this out now, my head will be flooded with these words and I won’t be focusing well and I will get mad if I don’t write what I want). I can RATIONALIZE almost anything (see above example LMAO). This is a post about some of my frustrations.

I don’t like cigarettes; I like some tobacco. I like the taste in a kiss. I like the slight sent of quality tobacco on the wind. It is complicated to explain. I can rarely take more than a small puff of tobacco or I will get very ill from tummy to head. All of my lovers have smoked, some only tobacco, some only cannabis, some both. I like that my current lover smokes both. {I do not like the “current” thing because the romantic in me is so high on love right now she wants to deny any one came before and cannot imagine anyone coming after.} My darling has a few too many drinks and starts leaving ashes here and there. Strange how I can see this as charming and annoying at the same time. Mr. McGee (formerly referred to as “the lottery ticket” and Mr. Perfect) smoked Paul Mall shorts in the dark green box; when he was on a bender the ash tray would overflow, but they didn’t bother me, as long as there was adequate air flow. The Joker smoked Camel Crush Menthols; I loved the minty drag, but they had to stay outside, so strong! Marlboro are way too strong and I can’t be without ventilation, and definitely no more than 1 puff. American Spirits may be “natural” but they don’t smell good. When I buy tobacco I buy Djarum Blacks. I miss the sweet filters but the taste and smell is the best. I can take two or three hits and do okay depending on the day.

So, see how I kind of hid those little complaints in there? almost enough to be completely ignored. Not everything is easy like that, and of course I am still processing on some things. I keep remembering an incident that happened when I was 10, living in a duplex on the main drag of mom’s small hometown. The duplex shared a foyer; Mom and I were napping on the floor in front of the TV, smoke came from under the door and woke me up. The neighbor had sat on the couch smoking while waiting for a ride (he had lost his license to his alcoholism) his cherry had dropped on the arm of the sofa as he left. The arm of the sofa had been smoldering long enough that it was just about to flame up when we discovered it and kept the house from burning down. It was a lucky situation and I was not scared or traumatized by it all, but.. the imagination doesn’t easily let that shit go, we could have easily ended up a statistic of what happens when alcoholism causes carelessness around combustion. I wish I did not have this memory come to mind when I see my love enjoying his drinks and tobacco.

I make messes. The less shit I have the fewer messes I can make, so I make some effort to be a minimalist. I do not like having too much stuff, stuff makes stress. I like having a harder life if it is a simpler life. Work releases stress when it is the work of living, not serving money. I am pretty sure my messes irritate my love. He is kind and sweet and rarely says anything other than saying he should help me clean and I deny him… I know time will come when I won’t, when I will want his help and hopefully he won’t be spoiled by then and not want to help LOL.

We tried to get my swamp cooler working, it is making noise and not spinning the fan after the first few hours so that is work and money that I don’t really HAVE to deal with because I am OK being hot. Clients and friends however are not, and apparently my thinking they are being weak and indulgent makes me feel like the worse person…wtf?? Not a worse person per-say, just mean and uncaring for not trying to meet their needs for climate control.

“What they gonna do when the grid collapses, Ms. Belle?”

“Well, I don’t know child, but I am gonna need earplugs to avoid the whining.”

We all have “Good Intentions”, in general. Hypocrisy and Murphy’s Law love to play roulette with life’s wheel of good intentions. Irony and failure take hold and try to shape us. It takes a whole hell of a lot of determination to not accept failure and buy into being a victim. Determination isn’t hard, it isn’t like “will-power”. Determination keeps trying, study harder, save more, give more, stand up against the odds. Will-Power falls on Pride, Ego. Instead of saying “try harder’, will-power says, “we did this before we can do it again,” or “nope, haven’t done that so I can’t” . Will-Power will not keep me from sleeping around, I like it too much. My determination, however, says, ‘there are better investments and escapes.” My Will, wants to go shopping, until there is no money left. My determination wants to pay bills and save for accomplishing long term goals. My will, likes taking a drag off a cigarette, drinking a little too much so I can feel like jelly, laying in bed all day making love; my determination to save my money, be healthy, and maintain self-control, won’t let me over-indulge. May your Determination be stronger than your Will.

It seems to me when I finally started seeking Truth (not dogma or religion) life got easier and harder simultaneously. I believe in a Universal Truth (like a Universal God and the Creation of the Science in Life). To align myself with that truth, I must be completely truthful with myself and others. Myself I am actually pretty okay with. I am a very loving, forgiving, tolerant woman child (passions of a woman, faith of a child). Being honest with myself is as easy as being honest with God… hmmm… I may judge myself, but not without inquiry, not without deep conversations of what my motivations are and why. I know better than any other the rationalizations I try to come up with and I can generally check myself for ignorant behaviour.

Once upon a time I was told to start with a blank slate when reading my Bible. I applied that to EVERYTHING. On that Slate I try to write in my heart only truth and honesty of who I feel God (AKA universal truth and love) has designed me to be. I use no other meter than these: God is Love, they who know not Love know not God; Perfect Love Casts out Fear; Love your neighbor as yourself. In my reasoning that seems a basic logical progression to start with.

Casting out fear, takes a LOT of bravery. Mary should have been stoned when she told everyone she was pregnant from immaculate conception. That was brave truth right there and I want to be that truthful, that unafraid of death. I know so many people who are afraid of death and it seems that fear keeps them from living to their fullest potential and thus they aren’t happy.
I very much came to a place where death seemed the only answer to being happy. I was not living the life God had placed in my heart. Life was hell. The happiest of moments, were shadowed with negativity, drama, fear. I loved parts of life, my children, my home, nature, and learning; but over all I did not enjoy breathing, waking up, opening my eyes… the songs of birds, were a wicked reminder that I could not enjoy listening but needed to wake-up and start moving and accomplishing things that were not joyful to me because I had to do them in a way to please someone else. I was living life to keep them alive, they were not loving life or me, they were expecting me to make them happy to be alive. It took a long time for me to realize that was not my responsibility, nor one that I wanted. I wanted to be responsible for my own happiness because being in that situation where I was responsible for someone else’s (several someones’ actually when I think of the parenting expectations put on me) and allowing my happiness to be judged and ruled by someone else guessing (or maybe PROJECTING!?) who I was and what I wanted, DEFINITELY MADE ME FEEL LIKE THIS “HAPPY LIFE” WAS NOT mine.

My life is not perfect now, but my happiness is mine. My choices are 90 % mine. {I live in Amerika, remember?) The consequences are mine, and a result of my choices thus a natural learning experience whether they are positive or negative repercussions. I can accept more than anyone else that the choices I make today may not be the same choices I made last week, or last year, and I may choose something entirely different the next time. What amazing freedom to not be locked into others’ expectations or desires!

The problem with wanting to write in a blog is not knowing what you really want out there. Is it really safe? I don’t care but I do just enough to be afraid…I don’t tell too many people I write. I SUCK at for one thing. I KNOW my thoughts are shattered and random to say the least…but I figure my excuses are pretty good. (A decent person could put a link there in “excuses”–explaining the head injury, hormonal imbalance and bipolar conditions & medical side effects– tough shit I don’t want o do the research).

There is so much I want to say and put out there that I don’t want my husband (ex- because I actually wrote this over three yrs ago!) or family or certain people I know to KNOW I wrote it, I don’t want to hurt them or make them angry or talk about anything in a negative way. When in reality I should not be responsible for how they react to my my feelings and ideas right? I should just be about saying, “This is me as I am seeing life, I take responsibility only for me and my actions and feelings. PLEASE DO THE SAME.”

I ALSO DON’T write a lot because I don’t want to say enough for connections to be made to who I am behind this alias…when i feel anonymus I feel more open, free and less judged. I grew up around such judgement…we were poor, my grandparents paid a lot of our bills, begrudgingly because they didn’t have much either, but yet it seemed to me we always had plenty. (Probably because my grandparents went through the Great Depression and had common sense.) But there was such an air of “even if we’re poor WE don’t do THAT”. No shopping at thrift stores, no cursing, no going to the wrong side of town or making friends with “those people”. (Color wasn’t always the issue, – though Grandpa did ask why I would want to watch “those black people ” on TV, to which I replied , “because they are FUNNY!” with the real DUH attitude a ten year old can get. In fact I couldn’t figure out what the issue was, but certain people were just “below” us, wtf?) no drinking hard liquor–even a woman going in any place that sold liquor, especially a bar was like ‘OMG! HOW COMMON/lowly, uncooth?- always do good, look good & speak well. Now that last part seemed REAL contradictory to the middle part to me my whole childhood and I abandoned it as soon as I was on my own ( well, at 16)…I lived with my dad and went to a private school, but I hung out with the “rabble” because that was what I was and where I was happy. AND SUDDENLY I DIDNT FEEL GUILTY FOR BEING HAPPY. …I miss that feeling…